The Last of Us Infection
by jcarltam
Summary: A slightly adapted take on the popular video game The Last of Us, this story follows the character Gregory Brasher as he makes his way through the initial day of the infection. Some minor details such as dates from The Last of Us have been changed.
1. Chapter 1

Prologue

At 6:00 a.m. in Plymouth, Michigan the sun was just starting to peak over the horizon to bathe the trees and surrounding landscape in its life-giving light. While most of the nine thousand some residents were deep in the oblivion that is sleep, the alarm clock beside the bed of Gregory Brasher went off, filling the room with its noise.

Greg rolled over and hit the snooze button located above the glowing red numbers with a heavy hand, which he then brought up to rub the sleep from his eyes. He sighed as he lay back in the large bed and watched the shadows that played around on the ceiling as the morning sun shone through the thin curtains that covered the east facing windows. He looked over as the woman lying beside him twisted so as to put the early morning light at her back. He smiled as he looked at her and saw her mid-back length strawberry blonde hair fall in front of her eyes like a second set of curtains. He sat up on one elbow and gently caressed one of the delicate curls beside her ear. She shifted slightly and lazily opened one eye, her startling blue iris adjusting to the light in the room. She smiled, revealing flawless white teeth, free from any crookedness or imperfection.

"Morning Greggy darling, how was your sleep?" She muttered softly, closing her eye and snuggling closer to her pillow.

"Wonderful, Katherine darling. After all, I know in the morning I get to wake up next to you," He replied, as he did every morning. He then smiled and kissed his wife softly on the lips.

"Mhmm, can you be a dear and put on a pot of coffee for me?"

"You bet I can." Greg swung his legs out from under the covers and over the edge of the bed, gingerly stepping down on the cool hardwood flooring that he had installed last September. He rummaged around in his top drawer until he found his favorite grey University of Detroit t-shirt and his black running shorts, the morning air cool on his exposed skin and covering him with goosebumps. After he had dressed himself he stopped at the door and turned back to look at his wife of five years. He smiled a small, private smile that he always got when he saw his wife. His friends and colleagues often remarked that if Katherine had seen that smile earlier she wouldn't have waited four years to marry him, to which they would all laugh, none louder than Katherine. She would then reply and say that she had known about it all along, she just didn't want Greg to think it was that easy to get her.

He lifted up on the door handle as he swung the door open so as to avoid the awful screech that would accompany his exit, and pondered the idea of stopping by the local tool shop to pick up some lubricant as he drove home from work that evening. He closed the door quietly behind him, careful to keep the hinges from squeaking. He then descended down the stairs, one hand on the smooth banister on his right, the other combing through his dark brown hair. _I could use a haircut, _he thought as he considered the hair that almost reached down to his eyebrows. _Maybe I will ask Katherine for one tonight._ He reached the bottom of the stairs and turned right into the kitchen.

The birds sang in the trees outside of the kitchen window as Greg busied himself with making a pot of coffee. He poured new water into the machine and ground up some coffee beans by hand with the little hand grinder that Katherine had bought. Katherine was very specific about her coffee; the latest craze was hand ground coffee from Brazil. Every so often she would change to fit in with the latest trends. Her group of friends were all drinking this Brazilian coffee, and apparently it had caught on with a large amount of people. Greg was a great deal less particular about what he drank, as long as it was strong and black. He dumped the old coffee grounds into the garbage under the sink, and straightened to look out the window. He noticed that the street was wet; it must have rained last night. Greg put a new filter in the coffee maker and added the grounds. He pushed the big ON button and felt satisfaction as he saw the little red light beside the button turn on. He always felt happy when he did something for Katherine, she was his whole world.

Greg met Katherine at the University of Detroit back in September of 2003, when they were both starting out as freshmen. They had a couple of the same classes together, and Greg still remembered when he had finally given in to his cousin David's insistent advice to ask her out, only to be embarrassed when David ran up halfway through and asked whether she had said no yet. Greg had thoroughly chewed David out afterwards, David laughing all the while and exclaiming, "You should have seen your FACE!" Despite David's interruption, Katherine had said yes and the two quickly became inseparable. Greg was quiet and reserved, but time with Katherine had quickly changed that. She laughed loud and often, and her smile was big and genuine. The two of them complimented each other's personalities well, many of their friends remarked that they seemed to be made for each other. They were married just a few months after they graduated from university in 2008, Greg with a business degree and Katherine with a teaching degree. Katherine's parents had lived in Plymouth, aiding in their decision to start their life together there. But in early 2011 Katherine's parents had died in a tragic car wreck on their way down to Houston to visit some distant relatives. Katherine had been devastated, and Greg did all he could to help her through her grief. This brought the two even closer together, and the love they shared was strong.

Greg laced on his running shoes in the front entryway and heard Katherine stirring upstairs. He straightened and grabbed his iPod and headphones from the little shelf they kept beside the front door for hanging keys and keeping the extra gum. He opened the door and breathed in the fresh morning air deep in his lungs, popping the headphones into his ears. The first some that came on was "Carry On Wayward Son" by Kansas, one of his new favorites. As the first lyrics filled his brain, he began his run. He glanced at the houses on his right and his left, recalling names of neighbors and friends on his street. As he reached the end of Lindsay Drive, he turned left onto Riverside Drive which would bring him down to the Plymouth Riverside Park; a favorite place of Greg's to jog. He quickened his pace, relishing in the feeling of his muscles working. Greg was a well-built man, tall and broad shouldered with a handsome face and a square jaw. His steely blue eyes looked out over a large, but proportionally pleasing nose. He was pleased with his body, and worked hard to stay in shape. He went to the gym three times a week and ran every morning.

As Greg slowed before he crossed Edward N Hines Drive, he glanced down at his watch. _6:23, I took too much time getting out today, _he thought. He ran across the street, setting a slightly faster pace than he normally would. He kept a very tight schedule, and it wouldn't do to be late. He could start to feel the sweat dripping down his back as he entered the quiet atmosphere of the trees in the park, their spreading limbs slightly reducing the city noise produced by the cars on the road behind him. He glanced around slightly as he ran, admiring the beauty of nature. Ever since a little boy Greg had loved nature. Growing up in a small town, he had grown to appreciate the natural beauty of flowers in bloom, the way that leaves on trees changed colours with the passing seasons, and the glimmer of sunlight off the surface of water. He watched as beams of sunlight pierced the leafy veil of the trees as the sun rose higher in the sky with every passing minute. He waved greetings at some fellow early morning runners, but made no move to join them on their jogs. Greg appreciated this time alone, allowing himself to get lost in the beat of the music and the steady pumping of his legs as he pushed his body to comply with his demands. _Your mind will give up long before your body will,_ he thought as he ran.

About thirty minutes into his run Greg was covered in sweat and could feel a slight burning in his legs. _Halfway there, come on, just a little further to go._ He pushed on, determined to set a new distance today. He noticed a dark shape lying on a bench further up. This wasn't an unfamiliar sight to Greg, oftentimes vagrants and homeless people would sleep on the benches in the park during the spring and summer months when the weather was warmer. But something wasn't right, the man, and Greg could see now that it was a man, was lying as if in pain. He took out one earphone as he approached, and could hear the agonized moans coming from the man. Greg slowed as he approached, suddenly wary. The sun seemed to beat down on his head and the air seemed thicker, stifling. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. "Are you alright?" Greg called out as he advanced, one hand stretched forward towards the stranger. _What are you doing, do you think he is going to attack you? He is the one that seems hurt, _Greg berated himself. "Do you need 911?"

The man on the bench sat up suddenly, crushing a coffee cup in his hand. He appeared homeless, with a worn and tattered coat and a beat up baseball cap. He smelled as if he had not washed in a couple weeks, and the greasy hair that straggled down from his head attested to that fact. He had a wild look on his face, and Greg backed up involuntarily. The man's eyes were red and bloodshot, darting in all directions. "Go away!" the man yelled, scratching at his coarse black whiskers.

Taken aback, Greg again advanced and said "Do you need to go to a hospital? Are you feeling alright?"

"Uhhh," the stranger moaned, clutching his head. When he saw that Greg still standing nearby, he threw the ruined coffee cup at him. "I'm just hung over, can't you see that? God, do I have a headache." He placed his head in his hands. Greg stooped and picked up the coffee cup lying on the ground.

"Serves you right, maybe that will teach you a lesson." Greg was annoyed, and felt slightly foolish. He continued on his run, throwing the coffee cup in the trash as he passed the bench where the homeless man continued to groan and rub at his eyes.

Greg finished his run, his encounter with the man on the bench causing him to be slightly later than usual. He ran up the driveway puffing and blowing like a train engine. As he walked up and down the street to cool down he once again looked at his neighbors houses where he saw signs of habitation emerging. He saw the Sanderson's enjoying the morning news in their living room as they were oft to do. Bill Sanderson saw him through the window and raised a friendly hand in greeting, Greg replied in kind, raising his hand from its position on his head in order to wave at the friendly couple. Sadie Neiman was just climbing into her 2012 Dodge Challenger, a handsome black vehicle that was the single woman's pride and joy.

"How's the hunkiest man on the block doing this morning?" Sadie called out to Greg, flashing her mischievous smile. Greg smiled back, Sadie was a notorious flirt but she was harmless. She was one of Katherine's best friends; her and Katherine loved to tease Greg and took every opportunity to do so. Sadie's latest ploy was to compliment Greg as much as possible, trying to fluster and embarrass him. He had so far managed to evade her attempts to make her blush, much to her delight.

"Doing well. And how is Miss Sadie doing today? Off to work so early?"

"I'm doing well, thanks. And yes, I have lots to prep for the day. You wouldn't believe how much work goes into creating a lesson plan for a grade seven and eight class. And the work that they have to do, if I was in their shoes I wouldn't do half of it. Shh," she held her finger up to her lips, her mischievous smile once again playing on her face. Sadie worked at the same elementary school as Katherine, teaching the seven and eight class just down the hall from Katherine's grade five class. "If they heard me saying that then I wouldn't get near as much satisfaction out of making them do all three parts of each of the questions one to five. Anyways, talk to you later Greg! Say hello to that beautiful wife of yours for me," she said before stepping into her car and closing the door.

As Sadie drove off behind him, Greg mounted the three stairs that brought him up to the front door. Opening the front door, he was greeted by the welcoming smell of bacon on the grill wafting to him from the kitchen. He placed his iPod on the shelf by the door and stooped to untie his shoelaces. He could faintly hear the sound of Katherine humming as she went about the kitchen preparing breakfast. Glancing to his left he could see the coffee maker sitting on the counter, the pot showing signs that Katherine had already helped herself to a cup or two. He also caught a glimpse of Katherine, looking stunning in a white blouse overtop of a black knee length skirt that hugged her hips as she turned, walking over to the small table that took her out of Greg's line of sight. He threw his running shoes into the pile on the edge of the mat. Katherine was always telling him to stack his shoes nicely in the entryway closet, but old habits were hard to kill.

He crept into the kitchen, trying his best to keep quiet. He saw Katherine's back in front of the table, where two places were set. One plate was piled high with eggs and bacon and toast, while the other only contained a moderate amount. She was still humming, a tune that he couldn't quite recognize. He smiled to himself, she didn't have to make him breakfast, but it was something that she always did. His breath caught sharply as he stepped on a creaky spot on the floor. Katherine whirled around to face him, her drying curls flying out in a wild fashion before settling back by the sides of her head. She smiled when she saw him, "You scared me," she laughed, the beautiful music of her delight washing over Greg. He smiled and walked forward.

"That was never my intention, my fair lady," he said solemnly, putting a serious mask on his features. "I beg of you, is there anything my fair lady would want in order to make it up to her, she has only to ask." A smile broke out over his face as he walked up to her. She held a hand out, placing it in the middle of his chest.

"Uh uh, not until you have a shower." She pushed him away, her blue eyes twinkling with laughter and a slight smile playing on her lips. "Look at the time, it's almost 7:30. If you don't hurry, you might be late to work. So get on with it." She gave him another light push, this time her smile broke out in full.

"Be right down." Greg smiled; turning and taking the stairs two at a time up to the bathroom where he could shower. As he neared the top of the stairs he heard Katherine call out from the kitchen,

"Don't take too long, or the eggs will be cold!"

Greg stepped into the shower and turned the handle to hot. He braced himself for the initial shock of cold water, and stood there as the water washed away the sweat from his body. As he washed himself he found himself thinking of the man on the park bench. _What a terrible life, _Greg mused. _No wonder he was so hard, he doesn't have a wife to go home to. A job where he gets paid, or even access to a hot shower every morning. That kind of life could make anyone bitter._ He turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, scrubbing the excess water off of his body with one of the ultra-soft towels that Katherine had picked out in the first year that they were married. He had been dubious as to whether the towels were going to be worth their exorbitant price, but it had been years and the towels were still almost as soft as the day they got them. He stepped up to the mirror and admired the stubble which covered his cheeks and chin. _I should grow a beard_, he though. As he ran a hand over his rough face, he immediately dismissed the idea. _Besides, Katherine doesn't like facial hair._ He took out a new razor and went to work, deliberately removing all trace of the hair from his face.

Greg pounded down the stairs after getting dressed, he had chosen a white dress shirt with a navy tie, over which he threw on a dark grey suit jacket. His matching grey pants swished on the hardwood as he strolled into the kitchen to sit at his place at the table across from Katherine. He started eating his eggs and bacon with a gusto. "So Sadie says hi," Greg mumbled, his mouth full of toast.

"Tsk tsk tsk, didn't your mother teach you manners?" Katherine grinned at him. "I'll make sure to say hi to Sadie when I get to work. That reminds me, this Saturday some of the teachers are planning on having a girl's night out, and I was planning on going out with them. You are going to have to feed yourself, or you can go over to the Sanderson's, I'm sure they would love to have some company for dinner." Greg grimaced, the Sanderson's were about twenty years older than Greg and Katherine, but Erna Sanderson treated Greg like her grandchild.

"I'll figure something out." Greg had finished his toast and eggs, and was busy with eating the last of his bacon. "This is delicious, thank you honey." Greg stuffed the last of the bacon into his mouth and stood up. He crossed over to Katherine and kissed her on the cheek.

"Have a great day at work honey, I'll see you when you get home." Katherine smiled and grabbed Greg's head in her hands so she could kiss him on the lips.

"I love you," Greg whispered, looking deep into her clear blue eyes.

"I love you too," Katherine whispered back, blue eyes twinkling.

As Greg pulled on his black dress shoes in the front entryway, he remembered that he wanted to get a haircut. "Hey Kat, do you think you could cut my hair tonight? It's getting a bit long."

"Sure honey, I'll find the hair cutting box after I get home."

"Thanks," he called out as he grabbed his car keys and opened the front door. Looking at his watch, he climbed into his 2002 Honda Accord, the car he bought just before going off to university. When he turned the key in the ignition the vehicle turned on and the radio blared loudly. Greg quickly turned down the volume and switched to the local news network as he pulled out of his driveway and started to drive to work. After a few commercials advertising various products and fitness shops the newscaster's voice broke out from the radio. Greg turned up the volume in order to hear what he was saying.

_… And in other news, the riots that started up in the Pará region of Brazil have now spread to the nation's capital in Brasilia, and into the surrounding countries of Venezuela, Columbia, and Peru. There have been reports of extreme violence by the civilians, resulting in multiple deaths and retaliation by the armed forces of Brazil. These…_

Greg turned the radio down again. _What is the world coming to, _he thought. _Death and violence seem to abound in plenty._ He switched back to the music station. For the remainder of his forty-five minute commute he sang along with various songs, used his steering wheel as a drum set during the particularly exciting songs, and amused himself by watching the bouncing head of the little painted wooden turtle that he kept on his dash. Katherine had given him that turtle one year after they had started dating. Isn't he cute? she had asked, flashing him one of his winning smiles. Just like me, she had said. Greg had kept that turtle on his dash ever since, even though David and his friends had bugged him about it.

Greg pulled into the parking lot and his assigned parking spot. The spots to either side of him were still empty, he liked to be early. He sat in the car until the song that was on, "American Ride" by Toby Keith, ended. He looked at the clock on the dash; the glowing numbers said 8:42. He shut off his car, exited, and walked up to his office building. He pressed the lock button on his key fob as he neared the door to the building, and heard the reassuring sound of his car locking behind him. As he entered the building he glanced around, a couple other office workers who were also early birds were already there, but the majority of people would be arriving in the near future. As Greg walked to his cubicle he realized that in his rush to get out of the house he had forgotten to pour himself a go-mug of coffee. _I never forget my coffee, _he thought. He made a detour to the break room, as he turned right he fell into step with one of his colleagues that was a regular attendee to the coffee machine. Mr. Gary Schrempf was a heavyset man, his jowls large and red and his body large and beefy. He had a boisterous personality, coupled with a fiery sense of humour that made him famous around the office. _Or infamous, _Greg thought as Mr. Schrempf greeted him loudly.

"Hello, good morning Greg. How are we doing today eh?" Mr. Schrempf was also a Canadian, and he played upon all the stereotypes to an excess. He said that he loved nothing more than an ice-cold beer and a hockey game, and said 'eh' constantly. He watched the CFL and would bring back souvenirs like maple syrup for the office when he returned from visiting family in Toronto. Despite his loudness and tendency to pick fights over whether football or hockey was the better sport, Greg liked him. He was an open and honest man, something that Greg could appreciate.

"I'm doing well Gary. And yourself?" Greg opened the door to the break room so that they could shuffle in.

"Just splendid Greg, just splendid. Fancy seeing you here eh? Ha ha!" He laughed loudly, patting a heavy hand on Greg's back. Greg smiled, they saw each other most mornings, but he was often at his desk already getting started on the day's work.

"Yeah, I found myself a little rushed this morning and it turns out that I forgot my coffee at home. I just came here to make a new pot." Greg started prepping the office coffee maker, a larger machine than he and Katherine had at home, this one was made for lots of people. He grabbed a package of coffee grounds, some generic cheap brand that someone from the office had donated for anyone who needed a little extra caffeine during the day. He measured the appropriate amount of grounds and dumped them into the machine.

"Well now, Katherine didn't even remember to send you out with some coffee? You two must have really been distracted this morning, if you know what I'm saying," Mr. Schrempf said with a wink and a smile. "I don't suppose that's why you were rushed this morning?"

"Actually no." Greg thought back to the man on the bench, vaguely disquieted. Something about the whole encounter this morning seemed off to him, he just couldn't place his finger on it. "I had an interesting meeting this morning during my run, I got a little behind schedule." He briefly described his meeting with the man on the bench to Mr. Schrempf, who nodded and made noncommittal throat noises throughout the telling, a serious look on his face.

"Well Greg, as far as I can tell, that man was just terribly hung over. I can almost feel his pain, there has been more than one time where I drank a little too much. I'm sure you can sympathize, eh? Put it out of your mind, hung over homeless people are not worth your worrying." Mr. Schrempf laid his heavy hand on Greg's shoulder. "Men like you Greg, you are a good guy. Almost too good, you care too much. Well, not that caring is always a bad thing, but some things are just out of your control. Men like you are hard to find, be careful not to lose that good spirit. Have a good day Greg." Mr. Schrempf lifted his hand from Greg's shoulder and filled his coffee mug from the now full pot of coffee.

Greg looked around, he could see through the break room windows that the office was starting to fill up. He grabbed a chipped ceramic mug from the cupboard above the coffee maker, and filled it to the brim with the coffee. Turning around he took a cautionary sip. He winced slightly as the hot liquid burnt his tongue. The coffee was dark and strong, just the way he liked it, but as he settled down back at his desk he figured that it was decidedly less tasty than the Brazilian stuff that Katherine liked. Booting up his computer, he forced his mind into its work state.

Since the director took a leave of absence four months ago, Greg had been appointed acting director of the accounting firm where he worked. He was hard working and almost never missed a day, and so his associates had come to respect and rely on him, though he was still a relatively young member of the firm. A lot of the work was simple, but fulfilling to Greg. Though he had grown up in a small town and appreciated recreational activities such as hunting and fishing, when he was in the office he was in his element. Now as acting director his responsibilities revolved mostly around scheduling and attending a vast amount of meetings, reviewing others work, and occasionally responding to auditors. He worked steadily throughout the morning, calling and arranging meetings as well as stopping to help a new employee who was having trouble filing some numbers correctly. After he finished with helping them out, Greg decided that it was time for him to take a lunch break. He shrugged off his jacket and put it on the back of his chair at his cubicle.

As he entered the break room he was greeted by some other members also taking their lunch break, some called out to him and others simply raised a hand in greeting, their mouths full of food. He went over to the small fridge in the corner of the room to check and see if his left over pizza from yesterday was still in there. Sure enough, three pieces of triple meat pizza sat on the Styrofoam plate with saran wrap over them, his name written in bold black letters scrawled on top. He stooped to grab the plate and unwrapped his lunch. Crushing the saran wrap into a ball he tossed it at the garbage can in the opposite corner. The ball of saran wrap sailed through the air, bounced off the metal rim of the garbage can and fell to the floor. Greg sighed and made a move to walk across the room and pick up the ball when a friend named Sam Bailey stood up from the couch, "Don't worry about it Greg, I got it."

"Thanks," Greg replied, shifting his destination to the seat on the couch beside Sam. He sat down heavily and watched as Sam moved back to sit down beside him.

"You always were lousy at basketball," Sam greeted Greg as he sat down, a smile on his face. Sam and Greg had met at university, where they had participated in some intramural sports. Sam was tall and skinny; as fast and accurate with a computer as he was with a basketball.

"Not fair, my small town didn't have a very competitive basketball team," Greg complained, his mouth full of pizza. Sam had grown up in Detroit, and was naturally gifted at basketball. He went to the University of Detroit on a basketball scholarship until he blew out his knee and wrecked his career.

"That's what you always say." Sam elbowed Greg in the side, almost causing Greg to choke on his pizza.

"Shove off will you? I'm trying to eat." Greg glared at Sam in mock anger.

"Just ribbing you," Sam replied, immediately laughing at his own pun. Greg just rolled his eyes. Sam's sense of humour was dubious at times, and he couldn't get enough of his puns. Conversations with Sam often turned into a series of puns followed by the good-natured groans of his audience, who had come to accept Sam's jokes with only a small word of protest.

"Have you been listening to the radio today?"

Greg shook his head negative. Sam knew very well that Greg had not; Greg couldn't concentrate if music was on. Sam on the other hand thrived in loud and noisy environments, and always listened to the radio while he worked, much to his co-workers dismay. Just recently he had gotten a pair of headphones that he could plug into his radio so that he only caused a minimal disturbance in the workplace. When Sam asked if he had been listening to the radio, he meant that something interesting had come up and he was going to fill Greg in.

"So you have heard about all the riots down in South America right?" By now Sam had a slightly larger crowd, several others sitting around on the couches nodded their heads and murmured assent. "If that isn't a crazy enough situation for you, about an hour ago they were saying on the radio that there is some sort of widespread flu epidemic or something, hospitals are getting people with extreme migraines and then vision loss. They are telling everyone to wash their hands and sanitize and all that sort of stuff." Greg had a sudden vision of the man on the bench, rubbing his eyes and holding his head. He concentrated on what Sam was saying again. "…Not only that, there are reports of people just going mad. Some guy over in Boston was found beating a man to death, and when the cops tried to arrest him, they had a hard time keeping him down. It took five officers to subdue him, and he bit three of them in the process. They are suspecting some sort of drug, but he won't talk to them." People were shaking their heads at this point.

"What is the world coming to?" One woman demanded, others shaking their heads in agreement or disappointment with the state of current events. Greg found himself nodding with the rest of them. _Sickness, madness, violence. Too much of those three things in today's society, _he mused, looking around at other people in the room.

Greg finished up the last of his pizza and threw the plate out on his way out of the break room. As he was walking back to his desk he saw one of the employees, James Munro slumped forward at his desk, his head in his hands. A small pill bottle was open beside him. Greg walked up to him and knocked on the wall of his cubicle. "What?" James turned around aggressively, glaring at Greg with bloodshot eyes. Greg raised his hands.

"Hey man, I heard that the flu is going around, maybe you should take the rest of the day off." James at least had the decency to look ashamed.

"Sorry Greg," he mumbled, passing a tired hand over his eyes. "I just have a splitting headache, I don't usually get these."

"Don't worry about it, go home and rest up." James nodded a tired thanks and gathered up his supplies to leave. Greg walked back to his cubicle and sat down, staring at the computer screen. With a practiced effort, he forced his mind back into a place where he could concentrate to work. He worked diligently until his phone rang. Pulling it out of his pocket, he took a look at the caller id.

_Katherine Brasher_

_That's odd, _he thought, looking at his watch. It wasn't even 2:30, why would Kat be calling? He answered his phone. "Hey Kat, what's going on?"

"Greg, I'm not feeling too well. I had to drive home..." She certainly didn't sound very good over the phone. Greg felt a quick squeeze of fear in his chest. "…I have this awful migraine, it just started up about forty-five minutes ago. I'm taking the rest of the day off, Mrs. Mason is subbing for me. Can you be a dear and pick me up some medicine on the way home? Anything that says migraine or headache relief would be appreciated."

"Of course Kat, do you need me to come home right now?"

"I'll be fine. Thank you for the thought though Greggy darling." He could almost hear her smile through the phone, but he could also hear the pain-induced strain on her voice. "Love you lots babe."

"Love you too Kat, rest up will you? I'll try to be home early. See you then." He hung up the phone and put his head in his hands. _Kat's got it too. Great, is everyone getting sick?" _He made a plan that he would stock up on as much antibiotics and flu medication as he could get his hands on when he went to the store. He sighed and looked at the computer screen through his fingers, like looking through the bars of a cage. He tried to go back to his work, but his mind was far from the job. Over the next couple hours he had three other members of the firm ask him to leave because of intense migraines; he just waved them all away and told them to get some rest. By 4:15 he had barely made any progress in his work so he decided to call it a day. He packed up his station and left, opening the door to the warm embrace of the afternoon air. As he made his way over to his car he waved at a young couple walking by enjoying the sunshine. He smiled as he watched them walk by, hand in hand. The girl leaned over to the guy and said something, to which he threw back his head in laughter. They reminded Greg of him and Katherine, where the same scene was often repeated. _Even when the world is looking pretty dim, there is always joy to be found in love, _he thought somewhat philosophically.

He climbed into his warm car, rolling down the windows and turning the air conditioning to its max setting. As he pulled away from work he mentally planned his trip home. _Got to stop and get Kat some medicine._ He could stop and get that at the CVS Pharmacy at the corner of Newburgh and 5 Mile road. He sped ahead to his destination, one arm lazily draped out the window on his left, enjoying the feeling of the rushing wind.

As Greg neared the pharmacy he noticed the parking lot was full. _Damn_, he thought. _Guess everyone else had the same idea as me._ He had made a full circuit of the parking lot three times looking for an empty space when he espied an elderly couple climbing into their vehicle. He waited patiently for them to pull out of their space, drumming his fingers on his steering wheel. When they had vacated the spot he pulled into it, shifting his car into park. Exiting the artificial coolness of his car, he stepped into the warmth of the sun, which was still shining brightly. Weaving his way through the vehicles in the parking lot he heard voices being raised. Looking past a row of cars he saw a large man, a construction worker judging by his bright orange coveralls, confronting a smaller man who clutched a plastic bag with the pharmacy logo stamped on the front close to his chest. He could hear the voices clearer now.

"Just give me the bag, I really need it," said the construction worker, clutching his head and blinking furiously. Greg could now see that he was shaking. Whether from anger or pain he had no idea. Greg started moving closer to the two men.

"Forget about it," the smaller man said crossly, still holding onto the bag tightly. "You aren't the only one who needs it, I have a wife and a teenage son at home who need it to. So if you'll excuse me…" he then tried to walk past the construction worker. The construction worker put his arm out, blocking the smaller man's path. By this time Greg was running towards the two.

"Hey, stop that," Greg said forcefully, putting his hand on the construction workers shoulder and physically turning him around. He was the same height as the assailant, and roughly the same size. For a brief second Greg was afraid that the construction worker was going to fight back, he saw a vein bulge in the man's temple and saw the man's hands clench. They unclenched a moment later; something in Greg's eyes must have told the man that fighting would be a bad idea. The big man shuffled back, bringing one large hand up to rub at his bloodshot eyes.

"What the hell, screw it." The construction worker gritted his teeth and turned away, spitting on the asphalt as he stumbled away. Greg watched him leave with a sense of disquiet. Turning back to where the smaller man was he looked around in astonishment. During Greg's confrontation with the construction worker he must have left, not even staying to give a word of thanks. Greg supressed his irritation and turned back towards the pharmacy. _How's that for doing a good deed, I stick my neck out to help some guy and he leaves without even a word of thanks._ He shook his head, sidestepping to avoid the mirror of a truck as he passed through the last line of vehicles before the pharmacy. Opening the doors, he was amazed at the sheer number of people. The pharmacy was packed, it seemed like everyone was trying to get medicine. There were moms with screaming babies, single men and women, families, elderly couples, all crammed together in one store. He started making his way towards the painkiller section, trying to gently move through the crowd. Despite his best efforts he was jostled about by the crowd and even received a wicked elbow to the side from a professionally dressed young woman. She murmured a quick apology as she made her way to the till, a bottle of painkillers in hand.

When he finally made his way to the isle with painkillers he looked at the shelves in dismay. They were nearly empty, stripped bare by the people who came before him. Craning his neck, he caught a glimpse of something at the very back of one of the higher shelves. Reaching an arm out over the head of a boy who looked no older than eighteen or nineteen he felt the shape of a bottle with his fingers. Wrapping his hand around it, he brought it to his face so he could read the label. It read: Brad King's Ultimate Migraine and Headache Relief, 30 Vegetarian Capsules. _Never heard of this stuff, but it will have to do, _he thought. _Won't Kat get a kick out of this, vegetarian friendly._ That was one fad Kat never gotten into. Kat loved her meat; they had shared many a burger run in the past. Turning around, he started the long hard squeeze back to the till. He moved more aggressively than before, bumping into people in his haste to get out of the packed store. Looking around, he saw several people rubbing bloodshot eyes or holding their head in their hands. There was a look of desperation on some people's faces, and there was an almost palpable sense of fear in the pharmacy. _Something is wrong here, _he realized. _Something is very wrong._ He shivered despite the warmth generated by all the bodies and started moving even faster.

When he reached the till he looked for the shortest line, but it was hard to tell with all the people in the store. Picking one line, he settled down for a long wait. There were at least ten people in front of him in line. As the line moved forward he found himself tapping his foot in impatience. He forced himself to stop and calm down; there was nothing he could do to make the line move faster. He looked ahead; the young man working the till was flushed with embarrassment as he tried to explain to a man that they were limiting the amount of medication one person could buy. The young man's face was as red as his fiery red hair.

"What do you mean I can't get two bottles? That's barely anything," the man roared, outraged.

"I'm sorry sir," the young man replied weakly. "With so many people here, we are being forced to limit the amount of medication you can buy. It's not just you, everyone has to do it. We just don't have enough medication for everyone."

"Fine," the man snorted in disgust. "I'll take one bottle." The young man quickly ran the transaction through, and handed the man his bottle. Now there were just two people between Greg and getting out of the store. Variants of the same situation occurred with both the people in front of him, and ended with the unfortunate shoppers leaving with less than they had fought for. The young man looked up as Greg stepped in front of him and started his monotonous litany,

"I'm sorry sir, but because of shortages…" Greg cut him off with a waving hand.

"I only have one bottle." The young man nodded tiredly in thanks, and ran the bottle of vegetarian friendly headache relief through.

"That will be 16.99 sir." Greg pulled his wallet out of his back left pocket and flipped it open. He was greeted with the picture of Katherine that he kept in his wallet. He smiled briefly before checking his bill compartment. He had a twenty dollar bill; he took it out and handed it to the young man. As the young man finished the transaction and then started making change Greg held up his hand.

"Keep it, you are doing a great job in here." The young man's eyes gleamed for a moment as he thanked Greg, but that gleam quickly vanished as the next person in line pushed Greg out of the way so that they could get to the till. Greg turned and headed to the door. He took a deep breath as he exited the crush of people and walked out the doors. Before the doors behind him closed full he heard a mighty yell go up,

"They're out! They're out!" Some unseen person shouted from in the pharmacy. People began to yell and scream, and fistfights broke out throughout the store. Greg turned away from the scene and began to run towards where he parked the car.

"Oof," he gasped as something thudded into his side, knocking him over. He threw his right hand out to break his fall, and when he hit the asphalt he felt his palm get torn and ripped. He tried to rise, but realized that he had been tackled by a woman who was still on him. She pried at his left hand which still grasped the bottle of pills for Kat. "Get off of me," he yelled, pushing her away. He staggered to his feet, turning to look at his assailant. She was crouching and licking her lips as she stared at the bottle of pills in her hand. Or at least, _trying _to look at the bottle. He realized as he moved his hand that her eyes would follow the general area of the bottle, but they wouldn't focus on the object. _Hospitals are getting people with extreme migraines and then vision loss, _Sam's voice said in his head. Greg held the bottle towards the woman.

"Do you need some medicine? I could spare some," Greg said, watching the woman's reaction carefully. Her eyes went from the bottle to his face. She snarled at him, no words coming out. "Are you…" She rushed at him screaming. Greg brought his right hand up in a fist, connecting with the woman's nose and dropping her to the asphalt, where she laid moaning and bleeding from her flattened nose. He shook his hand, growing up in a small town Greg had fought his fair share of fights but he hadn't fought anyone in a long time, and he forgot how much it hurt. Looking up from the woman who lay bleeding in front of him, he saw a small group of people watching him with scared eyes. _Time to go_, Greg thought as he turned and sprinted back to his car. Getting into the car he jammed his keys into the ignition, barely waiting any time before throwing it into gear and speeding out of the parking lot. _I have to get home to Kat_, he thought. He pressed down on the accelerator and watched the needle on the speed dial steadily rise.

He drove recklessly, taking risks he wouldn't normally take and driving above the speed limit. He passed another pharmacy on his way home, curious he looked out the window. It was just as packed as the CVS, maybe even more so. He put his concentration back on the road. He didn't even realize until he was pulling onto the street that he and Kat lived on that he hadn't put any music on the radio. Pulling into the driveway he put the car in park and turned off the ignition. He gripped the steering wheel in his hands and took a deep breath. _Calm down Greg, _he berated himself. _Stop getting so jumpy, everything is going to be fine. _Taking another deep breath to steady himself he opened the car door and walked up to the front door. Glancing through the window to the kitchen as he walked up he could see the coffee maker on the counter, nothing seemed out of place. The street was quiet, normal. Away from the crowds and the noise Greg started to calm down.

Greg opened the front door, inside the house it was cool. He glanced at his watch, it was nearly 5:45. Slipping off his shoes and kicking them into a pile on the edge of the mat he called out tentatively, "Kat?"

"Greg? I'm over here." He heard her call out from the living room, located down the hallway on the right side of the stairs from the entryway. As Greg passed the hallway closet he noticed that it was open. When he entered the living room he saw Kat lying on one of the big couches that they had picked up at a garage sale last summer, a wet cloth covering her eyes. Beside her on the coffee table he saw the hair cutting supplies. Despite himself he smiled, even though Kat was home with a painful migraine she still had got out the hair cutting supplies as if she intended to give him a haircut that evening. He walked over to her and knelt down beside her.

"I got you some migraine medicine, and don't worry, its vegetarian friendly." He winked as he opened the cap on the bottle. Katherine struggled to sit up, taking off the wet cloth and placing it on the coffee table where it immediately started discolouring the wood with moisture.

"Thank you Greg," Her voice was thick with pain. She glanced down at his wrist and caught sight of his bloody palm. "Oh Greg," she gasped, "Are you alright? What happened?"

"Nothing, just fell and scraped my palm. Nothing serious." He shifted, avoiding those eyes which seemed to always catch him in a lie. To his relief, she let it pass and leaned back on the couch. He pressed two of the pills into her hand. "Just wait here, I'll go fetch you some water."

"Okay." She closed her eyes and groped out for the wet cloth with one hand. Her searching hand eventually found it and brought it back to her head. There was a dark splotch on the table where the cloth had been sitting.

Walking into the kitchen Greg opened the cupboard where they kept the glasses. He grabbed one and looked at the inside, where he could see spots of left over waste from the dishwasher. He growled in frustration and filled the glass up with water then placed it in the sink to rinse. _More dishes are coming out dirty rather than clean these days, I'm going to have to call a repairman to check it out. _He grabbed a second glass from the cupboard, this one was dirty too. _What are the odds, _he thought, frustrated. The third glass was clean. He filled it to the brim and started walking back to the living room when his phone started ringing in his pocket. Still walking he pulled the phone from his pocket and looked at the caller id.

_David Brasher_

_ What could David be calling about_, he wondered as he entered the living room. He placed the glass on one of the coasters they had scattered on the coffee table for when they entertained guests. Kissing Kat softly on the forehead he whispered, "I got you some water."

"Thank you," she whispered, taking the cloth off of her eyes. Greg suddenly noticed that her eyes were bloodshot. A cold ball of fear formed in the pit of his stomach. Swallowing, he stood back up, the phone still ringing in his hand.

"It's just David, I'll be right back." He swallowed. Katherine nodded and picked up the glass so she could take the pills. He walked into the hallway and answered the phone.

"David? What's going on?" Greg realized that his voice was angry and sharp. Feeling somewhat embarrassed he began to apologize. "I'm sorry Dave, it's been a really long day and…"

"Don't worry about it," David's voice cut him off. "Greg, I think you should come over to my place right now. Bring Kat." There was something in his voice that made the ball of fear in Greg's stomach tighten.

"Right now Dave? Kat is…"

"Right now Greg. It's important. You should come as fast as you can. And that .38 snub nose revolver you keep in your sock drawer? Bring that." The ball of fear solidified so that Greg could almost feel a weight in his stomach.

"Dave, what's going on…"

"Turn on the news."

With a feeling of trepidation walked into the living room and switched on the television using the remote. He saw Katherine stir on the couch, but she didn't say anything. The water glass beside her was empty. He flipped channels until he found the news. His breath caught in his throat when he saw the title on the screen.

_Widespread Rioting, Teen Boy Dead_

On the screen was a picture of the red headed teen that Greg had bought the pills from at the pharmacy. The newscaster was speaking, "Terrible rioting has been noted all across the country, particularly in major urban areas. Reports of widespread violence is being documented. Today at approximately 5:27 a young man working a cash register at the CVS pharmacy near Plymouth, Michigan was killed by an angry group in the store. It is reported that he suffered several blunt force trauma injuries as well as being bitten several times before the police arrived. The suspects resisted arrest, some even fighting back against the officers causing…" The newscaster continued with his story, adding to Greg's horror.

"That's just terrible," Katherine mumbled. "And not too far away from here either…"

"I was there," Greg croaked.

"What?" Katherine asked, sounding slightly startled. _How bad is that migraine?_ Greg wondered.

"I saw him. I bought your pills from him."

"Oh honey, that's terrible."

Greg swallowed again. "Kat, are you feeling up to traveling? Dave wants us to go see him." She grimaced and nodded.

"I can make it."

"Okay, give me a minute." He stood up and exited the room. When he was in the hallway he raised the phone back up to his ear, "Okay, we are coming."

"Great, see you soon. Come quickly, and don't forget the revolver." Greg hung up on him and put his phone back in his pocket. Rushing up the stairs thoughts raced through his head like flies buzzing around a piece of meat left in the sun too long. _No time to switch into more practical clothes, _he thought as he walked into his and Katherine's room. Opening the top shelf of his dresser he reached into the back right hand corner. His fingers brushed the cold, dark metal of the guns six cylinder chamber. Pulling the gun out of the drawer he took a moment to admire its sleek, deadly beauty. Greg had purchased this .38 the year that he and Katherine had gotten married. He had taken a couple courses on how to use his firearm and a firearm defense class, so he knew how to use it. He also went to the range about once a month so that he stayed in practice. He had done some research and found out that snub nosed weapons were notoriously hard guns to master, and were less than useless in the hands of someone who didn't know how to handle them properly. Greg always liked to be prepared, and this was no exception. He pushed on the cylinder release button and checked the chamber. The one bullet that he always kept in the chamber was still there, the other five chambers remained empty. He reached down into his second drawer where he kept extra bullets. Pulling the case out, he grabbed a bullet and attempted to insert it into one of the chambers.

The bullet hit the floor heavily and rolled under the dresser. Only then did Greg realize that his hands were shaking. He took a deep breath to steady himself, and carefully loaded the other five chambers of the gun. As he closed the cylinder he heard the click that meant the cylinder was once again in its place and the gun was ready to fire. He knelt down to retrieve the fallen bullet, reaching his arm under the dresser and groping around blindly. His fingers brushed something hard and cold, pushing it further under the dresser. He stretched his arm to its limit and managed to grasp the object, which upon retrieval was in fact the bullet he was looking for. He put it back in the box, which he placed in his left pocket. The box made an awkward bulge, it being too large for the pocket, but it would have to do. Greg looked at the gun in his hand, before stuffing it in the back of his pants, where it nestled in the small of his back. He felt slightly foolish, he had seen this done in a movie he and Katherine had gone to just the other week. _It may be ridiculous, but it will work._

Greg re-entered the living room to find Katherine on her feet, slightly unstable but moving. She grinned weakly, her eyes seemed to have trouble focusing. He moved to her side, offering her his arm to help steady her, which she took without complaint. That was strange in itself, Katherine was selectively independent, but one thing that she always told Greg that she could do herself was walk. Her fingers tightened on his arm, her grip was surprisingly firm and caused Greg to wince slightly in pain. He walked her through the hallway to the front entryway. He opened the closet and grabbed his thick soled hiking boots. _If I can't have serviceable clothes_ _I can have good boots at least._ His next thought was _Serviceable for what? _He shook his head as if to shake off this feeling of foreboding that accompanied him. He turned to see Katherine struggling to put her foot in one of her slip on shoes. Her spatial awareness seemed to be off, she would bring her foot forward only to ram her toes into the back of the shoe. The next try she missed the shoe altogether, her foot passing right above it. A small noise of frustration was issued by her, her face screwed up in concentration. When Greg knelt down to help her an exasperated sigh blasted from her lips.

"Greg, you know I love you, but I can do this. Why don't you give it a rest and just let me do this?" She almost yelled at him. He just looked at her in amazement, Katherine was almost never angry, much less aggressive. Almost immediately a look of shame crossed her features, and her face fell. "I'm sorry Greg, I don't know what's come over me. It's this headache. I could use some help."

"I know Kat, I know." He picked up the shoe and fitted it on her foot. "You are like my Cinderella now, the shoe fits just right." He smiled up at her and was rewarded by a weak smile from Katherine. Something inside him shivered in fear, something was so terribly wrong with this situation. He stood up and took her hand, leading her out to his car. When he reached the passenger side he opened the door for her and helped her sit. She collapsed on the seat, looking so utterly exhausted that Greg felt a pain in his heart. He closed her door as gently as he could and hurried around to the driver's side of the vehicle. Getting in to his seat, he turned on the ignition and then grasped Katherine's hand in his. He could feel the steel outline of the revolver tucked into the small of his back, the cylinder sitting uncomfortably against his spine.

"Don't worry Kat, we will be at David's place before you know it. Just sit there and wait for those meds to kick in." He gave her hand a quick squeeze before shifting the car into reverse and backing out of the driveway. David's place wasn't far away, the drive usually took less than an hour. David lived nearby in the small city of Trenton, whose population was about double that of Plymouth. Most of the distance to Trenton was on Interstate 275. As Greg pulled onto the Interstate he looked at his gas gauge, which was nearing the quarter tank mark. He swore quietly under his breath, it would be enough to get him to David's, but he would need to pick up gas as soon as he could. Speeding up, Greg put his mind to the drive ahead. He could see the tail lights of lots of vehicles in front of him. He swore again, this time louder. Apparently many other people were also taking to the interstate at this time, congesting the road and slowing down the traffic. As he and Katherine sat in traffic his mind wandered back to David.

David was Greg's cousin, but they were more like brothers. Raised in a small town the two had grown up together. Greg was an only child, but David had an older half-sister, the product of David's father's unhappy first marriage. The two had never been particularly close, and there was an age difference of eight years between the two. Greg and David were almost the same age, being born just months apart from each other, Greg being slightly older. The two had only lived three houses apart, so where one boy was found the other could often be found nearby. It was not an usual sight for one or the other to eat supper at the others house, eventually the two families just started cooking food for one extra every day in case so that they always had enough to eat no matter who was eating where. The two boys had grown up together, gone hunting together, and had their first beers together. It was David who had taught Greg how to shoot a gun and how to get a badger to come out of its hole. Greg once taught David how to catch fish with his bare hands in the little stream by their community, much to David's delight and the never ending anguish of young girls who found dead fish in their backpacks or in their mailboxes. Greg smiled at the memory, oh how little Lisa Turner with the golden ponytail had shrieked when she discovered the cold and dead fish that had graced the inside of one of her Sunday shoes. She had refused to talk to David for a whole month, which only caused him to try the stunt again in order to spark a word from her. And he had gotten a few choice words from her after that; that was the first time he had ever heard a girl swear. David returned from the encounter slack-jawed and sporting a wicked bruise on his left eye.

When Greg had graduated from that little town with a scholarship to the University of Detroit, it was only natural that David would accompany him; two small town boys ready to face the big city. They had roomed together on campus, truly an odd pair. While Greg was devoted to his studies David attended more parties than classes, or so Greg would always remark when David was heading out the door to attend the next party. Greg had graduated with honours and at the top of his class. David had gotten his degree in engineering, but just barely. Still, the two of them shared a big smile as they both graduated. However, it was a time for sorrow for them. Greg got married to Katherine, and had moved to Plymouth while David had gone to Trenton where he worked in an auto shop as a mechanic; this was the first time that the two men had been separated since they were born. Greg had once asked David why he bothered to get the engineering degree, David just laughed and told him that he couldn't let his older cousin go off to the big city without someone to look after him. The two still kept regular contact, and saw each other once every couple months. Katherine and Greg had gone to visit David just two weeks earlier to celebrate David's birthday.

With the extra traffic, the drive to David's took longer than usual, by the time Greg pulled onto the street that David lived on it had been nearly two hours. The sun was low in the sky, turning the clouds a brilliant red. _Sun will set in about an hour_, Greg predicted. Katherine in the seat next to him shifted restlessly. She had begun to make small noises of discomfort about half an hour ago, and Greg was growing more worried by the moment. _Maybe I should take her to a hospital_, he thought. Pulling into David's driveway, he noticed that the blinds were closed in the windows of his cousin's small house. He turned off the vehicle and hurried to get Katherine's door for her. Before he could get all the way around she had opened the door and started to step out of the vehicle. Trying to stand, she stumbled and fell with a cry.

"Kat!" He rushed to her side, anxious. "Kat, are you okay?" She nodded, but she didn't look okay. He eyelids fluttered and her breathing was rushed. He picked her up in his arms. _God she feels light, _he thought. She was light in his arms, like he was carrying a child. She put her head against his chest and moaned, clutching his arm. Greg looked around and realized that the street was empty and silent. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up; he shut the car door with his hip and carried Katherine to the door. Shifting Katherine's weight in his arms, he grabbed the door handle and turned it. It didn't yield to his pressure. _Locked, come on David, _he thought frantically. Shifting Katherine's weight again, he rang the doorbell. He heard the bell chime inside the house and then the sound of footsteps nearing the door. He heard muffled movement from inside the house when suddenly the front door swung open into the house. Standing with one hand on the door was David, in his other hand was a Colt .45 handgun.

David backed up a step, the expression on David's face was fierce. When David recognized Greg the expression quickly left. David looked very similar to Greg, almost as if they were brothers. David was slightly shorter than Greg, but more muscular. Dark coloured hair covered his cheeks and jaw, David looked like he hadn't shaved in a couple of days. His blue eyes which were so similar to Greg's were tired, and looked decidedly worried. Presently they dropped to Katherine, who was still cradled in Greg's arms. "Greg, what the hell happened?" He ushered them into the house, putting the pistol into a holster which he wore strapped to his belt. Greg walked into the living room which was just off of the main entryway and put Katherine down on the couch. David locked the door and walked into the room. "Is she hurt?"

"I'm fine Dave, but I'm touched by your concern." Katherine managed a wry smile before dropping her head into the crook of her elbow. Almost immediately a moan of pain came from her.

"Have you eaten yet?" The unexpected question took Greg by surprise. He stood there blinking at David; David just crossed his arms. "Come with me, let me get you some food and a beer." He turned around and walked through a doorway to the kitchen. Greg suddenly realized that he was hungry, in the rush he hadn't even gotten anything to eat. Looking at his watch, he realized it was already 8:10. Katherine waved at him from the couch.

"Go get some food honey, I'm not hungry. I'll just lay here and rest for a bit." Greg nodded and walked toward the doorway to the kitchen. As he passed through he could hear Katherine's moans start up again. When he entered he saw Greg pull two bottles of beer from the fridge, which was located on the opposite wall of the kitchen, flanked by the stove on one side and the counter on the other. A burger was on the table in the middle of the room with half a plate of fries, David had obviously guessed correctly that Greg wouldn't have time to eat before coming, and so had made him some food. Another plate with a burger and some fries also sat on the table, obviously meant for Katherine. Greg pulled up a chair and took a big bite of the burger. It was delicious, the cheese had melted onto it and David had even taken the time to cut some pickle slices and put them on the burger, just how Greg liked it. He wiped a spot of ketchup from the corner of his lip and put the burger down. David sat in the chair across from him and handed him one of the beers. David pulled a bottle capper out of his pocket and opened their beers. There was a short silence as they both drank some of their beer.

"Is Kat alright?" David asked, his voice hushed but intense. His blue eyes seemed intent on piercing Greg's skull and getting the answers.

"She's fine, just sick. She's got a headache." David looked away then, an unidentifiable expression on his face. _Horror? Sadness? Fear? _Greg was keenly aware of the noises he could hear coming from the living room. Katherine's moans were getting louder and more pained. He moved to stand up.

"What are you doing?" David's voice was sharp. _Pain, _Greg realized. _Pain and regret. But why…?_

"My wife is sick," Greg replied coldly. "She needs to be brought to a hospital." They were still talking in hushed tones, Greg was half out of his chair and David looked like he was about to stand up.

"You can't do that."

"And why not damn it? There is no law about bringing wives to the hospital to be treated." Greg was getting irritated. _What is David up to?_

"You didn't listen to the news channel on the way over here did you?" Greg shook his head no. He had turned the radio off to keep it from irritating Katherine. "You don't know what's going on there. They are killing people." Greg's blood turned cold.

"Who is killing people Dave?"

"It's the patients. They are going crazy. They say that it starts off as a headache, then vision loss, then anger and aggression, and then… Then they start killing people Greg." Greg shook his head.

"That's ridiculous. Why?"

"They don't know, some unknown infection. Look Greg…"

"No!" Greg's voice was slowly getting louder. "Look Dave, I don't know what or why people are doing these things, but I need to get _my wife _to the hospital."

"You don't understand…" David was standing up by that point, brandishing his beer bottle.

"No you don't understand…" Greg was practically yelling. At that moment they heard a pain-filled scream come from the living room, high pitched and drawn out. Both of the men paused. After a moment a second scream filled the air, and then fell silent. The house was as quiet as death.

"KAT!" Greg yelled as he ran to the doorway to the living room. As he crossed the threshold he was greeted by an odd sight. Katherine was standing in the middle of the darkened room, facing away from Greg. And she was _twitching._ "Kat…" Greg called out cautiously. He took a step forward. Katherine whirled to face him, her eyes opened wide. Her eyes were glowing from the inside. A feeling of fear deeper than he ever felt gripped Greg in that moment. He tried to breathe, but he couldn't get the air out. "Kat?" He croaked, frozen in place. Her head faced directly towards him. She opened her mouth, and a sound of primal rage was all that escaped. She started to run towards him, teeth bared in a rictus of hunger. Time seemed to slow down as she ran towards him, mouth opening and closing and arms outstretched, her eyes glowing from within.

BANG! The sound of the gunshot ripped by Greg's right ear. He watched as Katherine's head whipped back, blood streaming in the exit path of the bullet. Her body hit the floor with a resounding thud, and she lay there, perfectly still.

"KATHERINE!" Greg screamed, rushing to her body. Tears streaming down his face, he held her in his hands. He reached a shaking hand up and brushed at the curl of red hair that had fallen across her face and across the hole that the bullet had made in her skull. He touched the blood at the edge of the hole with his fingers, almost in disbelief. As his fingers came away hot and sticky with her blood, tears obscured his vision. He clutched her body to his chest, sobbing. He looked up from her face, which only that morning had been full of life and vitality. He saw David standing in the doorway to the kitchen, outlined by the light streaming from behind him, he clutched the smoking pistol in his right hand, which didn't shake at all. Their eyes met. He could see that David was also crying. Tears cutting rivulets down his face, David whispered, his voice cracking.

"I'm sorry."


	2. Chapter 2

At 8 a.m. in Detroit, Michigan the sun was rising, shedding its weak sunlight over the cold and lifeless landscape. The wind blew through broken windows and through the empty streets, a howling entity which few would venture out into. Snow swirled in tiny eddies and currents of the wind, the small and delicate flakes drifting silently through the air, the promise of a long and cold winter accompanying them. A gust of wind whistled through a window on the third floor of an apartment, stirring the drapes which kept the weak sunlight out of Greg's room.

The influx of cold air into the room awakened Greg. He opened his eyes, but didn't move another muscle. The thin blanket that he slept under was torn and dirty. As the cold air touched his muscular back, entering through a tiny hole in the fabric he shivered. Already fully awake, he threw the blanket to the side and sat up. He ran his scarred, tough hands through his thick hair which was sprinkled with grey, then brought them down to scratch at his salt and pepper beard, which was trimmed close to his face. The wiry hairs had started to lose their colour when he turned thirty-five, by now he had just about as much grey hair as he did brown.

It was nineteen years after the initial infection, where most of North America's population was decimated by the killer fungal infection that originated in the forests of Brazil. Scientists had figured out what it was that was causing the illness, but by that time it was too late. They had said that the infection came from a mutated strain of the _Ophiocordyceps unilateralis_ fungus, a type of fungus native to the hot and steamy forests of Brazil. The natural fungus invaded the brain of carpenter ants, altering their behavior and causing them to climb onto leaves where they would latch on with unnatural strength as the fungus infected the rest of the body. The ant would then die, and the fungus would burst forth, growing out of the bodies of the ants. Scientists hypothesized that some ants with the mutated strain of fungus in their bodies had attached themselves to coffee plants and other produce growing in Brazil, hence the spread to North America in items such as Brazilian coffee. In humans however, the symptoms were much more terrifying. Humans could be infected in several ways, but it always involved the introduction of the fungal spores into the body. When in the body, the spores would travel to the brain area, where they would begin to grow. It would invade regions of the brain, stripping people of their humanity, and making their only desire to spread the spores. Initial spore growth took anywhere from an hour to a couple of days, before a person was considered one of the infected. They became hyper aggressive and stronger than a normal human being, perfect killing machines.

The infection had several deadly stages, which could be seen by the amount of fungal growth emerging out of the person unfortunate enough to be infected. Eventually the fungus would kill its host body. Even in death it was still deadly, the dead body would become a breeding ground for the fungus, spreading millions of spores. Some people had discovered underneath a heavy fungal growth a human skeleton, warped and cracked in many places by the fungus.

North America had fallen inside of a week. Not knowing what they were dealing with had cost them dearly, and a cure still hadn't been discovered. It was rumoured that scientists had long since stopped trying. None of that had mattered to Greg. He swung himself out of bed and immediately dropped down to the floor, starting his morning workout. The little room was freezing, the power was shut down during the day to conserve fuel and energy. As Greg did push ups he watched the fog of his breath. Soon enough there was a slight sheen of sweat covering him, and the room was starting to heat up due to the heat generated by his body.

_Breathe in, breathe out_, Greg thought as he pushed his body up and down. Moving from push ups to crunches, he grunted in pain. He put his hand to his side, where a white bandaged was wrapped around his broken ribs. The date was December 28th, or at least that's what everyone said it was. Three days ago on Christmas day he was cornered in an alleyway on his way home from grabbing his daily rations. The thugs had thought to take away the food from Greg and enjoy a larger meal on their Christmas, but they had underestimated his strength. He shot two of them, and had broken the third's arm at least. He was rewarded with his dinner and some broken ribs. The thing about broken ribs is there isn't much one can do to aid the healing process. But Greg had suffered worse. He stood up and stretched, he muscles taut. Over the nineteen years of surviving, he had accumulated a good collection of scars. He had a long, jagged scar underneath his left shoulder blade, where he had been cut with the buck knife he now wore on his belt by some boy who thought that it would be easier to strike first and talk later. Greg had bashed his skull in with the butt of his Smith &amp; Wesson Model 29, ammo was always in short supply. Greg had lost his snub nose years ago in a deal gone south with the black market with ran rampant in the city, so he had picked up a new gun using some persuasion and one thick plank of wood. He also had a scarred over hole on the opposite side of his lower back where he had been shot. The gunman had gotten away, and Greg was lucky to have lived.

He lived, but he didn't care. He hadn't cared about anything since that day when Katherine had died. It was a downward spiral. A person couldn't survive in this new world without being hard, ad hardness was all that Greg had. It was not life, but survival that drove him forward. He learned how to shoot better, he learned how to kill. There was not much that he hadn't done. Early on in the years after the initial infection he had earned himself a nickname that suited him just fine, 'Basher' Brasher. The people that knew him feared him, and his hard countenance had turned several others from his company. He had carved out a spot for himself in the shattered society and remained reclusive, keeping no friends and few acquaintances.

Walking across the small room he turned on the little propane stove located on the floor and placed a blackened kettle full of melted snow from yesterday, now partially refrozen, on top. His propane stove was a rare sight, it was very difficult to get fuel these days. But he had connections, people who owed him. He went to dress himself as his water heated, turning his back on the small stove. Grabbing a towel that was lying on the ground by the small bed Greg wiped the small amount of sweat off his body, any extra moisture would only mean a chill later in the day. Tossing the towel back on the floor he grabbed a t-shirt from the small set of rickety wooden dressers that he kept. Over the shirt he pulled on a grey long sleeved and then a lined jacket made out of rough canvas. All his clothes were monotonously coloured, all the bright articles of clothing seemed to disappear in the initial years of the infection. That, or they became dirty and dingy beyond repair. Now it seems like everyone wore shades of grays or dark greens. He grabbed a pair of worn jeans out of another drawer and pulled those on as well. Hitching the pants around his waist, he threaded his heavy leather belt through the belt loops, tightening it on the last hole. The belt was meant for a smaller man, and it only just fit Greg.

He sat down on the bed to pull on a pair of grey woolen socks, dirty and frayed, the left one had a hole in the sole. In the past before the infection he would have thrown the sock away, or made a joke to Katherine that he could only wear that sock to church, because it was 'hole-ey". He shook his head at the thought, it had strayed too close to the emotional cage where he put all his feelings and memories of Katherine. In this world, no one ever threw anything out, everything had its use. After the socks he pulled on his boots, heavy and thick; he got them in a deal the other week to replace his old and ratty pair. He wiggled his toes comfortably inside them, _The nice thing about buying gently used boots, _he thought, _is that they are already broken in._ He stood up and grabbed the two items on top of the dresser, his two most valued possessions. His revolver and his buck knife, each in their individual holsters. Clipping them to his belt, the revolver on the right and the knife on the left, he walked back over to the small propane stove. As he crouched by the stove waiting for his water to boil, a knock came at the door to his room.

Greg drew the buck knife with his right hand and held it ready, turning quickly. He stole quietly to the door, crouching on the right side of the door jam. The knocking came again, this time louder. "Damn it Greg, it's me. Let me in already." Tim's voice came from the other side of the door. Greg stood and sheathed his dagger, turning back to his stove.

"Go away Tim, I don't have any food for you. Try to bum it off of someone else." Greg called out, not even turning to answer the door. Tim was a young boy about eighteen years of age, and when Greg had first found him he was scrawny and starving. Tim was still scrawny and starving most of the time now, he suffered from an extreme gambling addiction, and the problem was that he barely won. He would offer up his daily ration cards and then lose them, depriving him of his meals. Greg had taken the young man under his wing for a couple of years before tiring of his company. Now every once in a while Tim still came around begging for scraps. Greg felt a twinge of conscience, in his past life he would have never been so cruel to someone who was obviously in need. But in this new world only the strong survived.

"I don't want food Greg," Tim's voice continued from outside the room. "I came to deliver a message."

"Well, whoever wants me dead is going to have to send a tougher man than you Tim," Greg called back. "Now you can go back to whoever gave you a couple ration cards to try to get you to do me in and tell them to try again. Or better idea, go into hiding. They would probably shoot you if you tried to pull a fast one on them like that."

"No Greg, the message is from General Walters, he wants to see you." Tim fell silent. Greg groaned silently. _Damn you Walters, what the hell are you doing._

"Alright, give me a moment." He stood up and crossed over to the door, unlocking it an opening it. He was confronted by the grinning visage of Tim Daniels, a sandy haired youth of twenty some years, he had been a toddler when the infection struck. Tim rubbed his hands together and strode into the room, glancing around.

"Still haven't improved from this dump heap eh?" The young man leaned against the bed, looking around hungrily. Greg sighed.

"There's half a loaf left over from last night in the third drawer, you can only have half. The rest is for me." Tim quickly found the bread and tore it in half. Two very ragged and uneven halves, of which he took the larger one. Greg sighed again, resigning himself to smaller breakfast than he had hoped for. His water on the stove had started to boil, he grabbed the handle, cursing as the hot kettle brushed his hand. Carefully, he poured the boiling water into two small tin cups. The hot water gave off a lot of steam in the cool air of the apartment.

"In the third drawer at the back I have some tea bags, toss them over." Greg ordered Tim. The tea bags had been hard to come by, those kind of goods were rare these days. Every couple weeks a ration of coffee was given out, but it was weak and never sat well in the stomach. Greg had abstained from the drinking of coffee since Katherine had died, and tea was better than nothing. He had paid dearly for the tea bags, and he wasn't disappointed. He was constantly amazed by what the black market could drag up. Putting the tea bags in the water, he left the cups to steep. Walking over to the bed he grabbed the small chunk of bread and tore into it with his teeth. It was tough and tasted like sawdust, but it was sustenance.

Tim watched him as he ate. This was somewhat disconcerting, but he was used to it. Tim watched as every morsel vanished into Greg's mouth, as if waiting for a crumb to fall so he could snatch it up. _Like a dog looking for scraps_, he thought as he chewed. He finished the bread and went to grab the cups of tea. Taking a sip, he swore quietly as the hot liquid burnt his tongue. They sat drinking the tea in silence, Tim slurping his tea greedily; this was probably the best meal he had eaten in several days. Greg drank the tea slowly, savouring its taste and warmth. Staring around the room, Greg nodded in satisfaction. _Compared to some people, this is pretty good._ And it was. Though Greg didn't have a lot of possessions, he was very well off. Most of his money was spent on ammunition and fuel, two very rare commodities. And he had enough left over to buy tea and other goods from the black market, which was more than most people could boast of.

When they had finished their tea Greg took their cups and put them back in his drawers. Shutting the propane off on the stove, he opened the door to his apartment. "Well," he said, looking back at Tim. "Let's go and see what Walters has for us today." They exited his small room, which he locked with a small key behind them. Together they walked to the stairwell, past the elevator shafts which gaped open, what their dark pits held was up to the imagination. The elevators hadn't worked in over ten years. The sound of their footsteps echoed loudly in the dark stairwell as they made their way down to the main floor. On the main floor a few other people lounged about, there was a small fire in the middle of the room which spread its warmth along with a cheery light. Greg nodded to several of the men that he knew as he and Tim walked by. Someone had an old cd player from which a familiar tune came out. Greg recognized "Carry On Wayward Son" immediately, and memories of a day long ago came unbidden to his mind. The jog, the man on the bench, Katherine… Quickening his pace as if to run away from these memories, he only had a moment to brace himself before the blast of cold air from outside hit him square in the face, the cold air causing him to gasp for a moment. They walked into the cold morning air.


End file.
